


Namaste

by ZombieBabs



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieBabs/pseuds/ZombieBabs
Summary: Flynn commandeers the common room.Lucy watches Jiya and Rufus exchange worried glances, as if Flynn is rigging an explosive and not simply standing there with his eyes closed, his arms stretched over his head, hands pressed together as if in some elaborate form of prayer.Flynn breathes in, filling his lungs with air. Slowly, he lets it out.“What is he doing?” Rufus whispers to Jiya.“I think it’s yoga.”





	Namaste

Flynn commandeers the common room.

Lucy watches Jiya and Rufus exchange worried glances, as if Flynn is rigging an explosive and not simply standing there with his eyes closed, his arms stretched over his head, hands pressed together as if in some elaborate form of prayer.

Flynn breathes in, filling his lungs with air. Slowly, he lets it out.

“What is he doing?” Rufus whispers to Jiya.

Flynn moves, arching his hands out to his sides. At the same time that he brings his hands in front of his chest, pressed together again, he sinks into a squat. He breathes in and out, moving with his breath. First, going into his original position, his hands stretched over his head. Then, arcing his hands out to his sides as squats, ending with hands pressed together in front of him. Again, he goes through the motions. And again. Eyes still closed, silent except for deep, steady breaths.

“I think it’s yoga,” Jiya says. Her eyebrows are screwed down, like she can’t actually believe what she’s seeing.

“Flynn…does yoga,” Rufus says. “Has he always done yoga? Did we break something in the timeline the last time we jumped?”

“I don’t know.” Jiya glances at Lucy, who is tucked in the corner with an old history book. The question is clear in her eyes, but it doesn’t make it to her lips.

Lucy smiles and shrugs. Flynn doing yoga is news to her.

Flynn shifts, folding over himself with his hands gripping his ankles. He inhales and on the exhale, stretches even further.

“Can you do that?” Jiya asks Rufus.

“I can, uh, touch my toes. I think.”

Jiya snickers.

Flynn breathes and, letting go of his ankles, steps back into Downward Facing Dog. His hands lay flat on the floor. As do his feet. His body is a perfect V-shape.

“Damn,” Rufus and Jiya say simultaneously, drawing the word out in appreciation.

“Do you mind? This is not a spectator sport,” Flynn says as he transitions into a lunge. He raises his hands over his head, fingers stretching towards the ceiling.

“Sure about that?” Rufus asks.

“Dude, you’re in the common room,” Jiya adds. “ _Everything_ is a spectator sport.”

Flynn frowns.

Rufus and Jiya—both geniuses in their own rights—sense they are in danger. They turn and run, clutching at each other and laughing like children.

Flynn cracks open one eye to watch them leave. He scans the room, landing on Lucy as she gathers her book and her notes.

“Lucy,” he says. “I did not mean for you—”

“It’s okay,” she says. She hugs her research materials to her. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m going to go back to my room, see if I can get a nap.”

He doesn’t say anything as she leaves, but Lucy feels the heat of his stare on her back.

 

Two days later, Flynn commandeers the common room to do his yoga again.

The difference?

Besides the rearrangement of the common room, the furniture moved to the very edges of the room, the difference is that Jiya seems to have joined him.

Rufus watches from the outskirts, his expression alternating between appreciation for the way his girlfriend’s body moves in a pair of floral leggings and fitted spaghetti-strap top, and worry. His eyes keep flickering to Flynn like Flynn is a wolf that’s been placed in the same pen as a soft, little lamb. Like if Jiya makes one wrong movement, Flynn will tear her to pieces.

Lucy approaches the scene with a smile, while Wyatt’s jaw drops.

“What are they doing?” he asks.

“Yoga,” Rufus says, but the way he says it, the word sounds like something nefarious.

Flynn moves into Downward Dog and a second later, Jiya follows. Where Flynn moves with the grace and fluidity of a dancer, Jiya is much less coordinated. She falls out of the stance once, before righting herself.

“Wrists,” Flynn says.

“Oh, right,” Jiya says. She adjusts, placing her elbows and wrists along the floor. Her feet don’t lie flat like Flynn’s do, her heels still an inch or two above the floor.

“Why not do it the other way?” Wyatt asks. His eyes are narrowed, like he, too, sees Flynn for the wolf he really is, except he might also suspect the wolf is rabid.

“Weak wrists,” Rufus and Jiya say at the same time.

“You know, it’s creepy when you do that,” Wyatt says.

Rufus shrugs. 

Jiya follows Flynn’s next movements, lifting her left leg into the air and then pulling it through until her knee comes to her elbow. She squares her hips and sits up, opening up her chest. She grimaces, shifts her position, and then seems to relax into it.

Flynn folds over his knee, forehead pressed to the floor, hands stretched out far in front of him.

Jiya follows, although her stretch is definitely not as deep as Flynn’s.

Both Rufus and Wyatt make a face at the way Jiya and Flynn’s bodies are contorted. Lucy can’t say she isn’t impressed.

“Come on,” Lucy says, grabbing Rufus and Wyatt by their sleeves. She drags them away, echoing Flynn’s words from days earlier. “This isn’t a spectator sport.”

 

Two days after the second incident, Lucy walks into the common room to see it once again commandeered by Flynn. The furniture has been moved to clear the space, which seems to be getting a little tight, because not only has Jiya joined Flynn, but Rufus has joined, as well.

Wearing a loose T-shirt and shorts, Rufus follows behind Jiya and Flynn, placing his foot on the inside of his thigh. He wobbles and nearly falls over. He saves himself at the last second by hanging onto Jiya, who falls out of her stance.

Flynn frowns.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rufus says, sheepish. He takes his foot in both hands and tries to place it on the inside of his thigh, but places it back on the ground again as he threatens to topple.

“Like this,” Flynn says. He slides his foot down to the inside of his calf.

“Or this,” he continues. He places his foot on the floor, heel lifted to touch his ankle.

Rufus tries the inside of his calf first, but still finding himself unbalanced, mirrors Flynn’s second example.

Flynn eyes Jiya’s stance before returning to his original position. He brings his hands over his head, spread wide, until he resembles something like a tree.

Rufus stands steady as he, too, brings his hands over his head, but he looks more like he’s mimicking a ballet dancer than a tree.

Jiya falls. First out of the position, and then, as she quickly tries to right herself, she overbalances completely. Her hands go out, grabbing for something—anything—to hold on to.

Rufus.

Rufus wheels his arms, but he stumbles into Jiya. Thrown by Rufus, Jiya falls into Flynn. Like dominoes, they all tumble to the floor in a jumble of limbs.

Rufus and Jiya exchange worried looks before turning, as one, to look at Flynn. Neither one of them seems to be breathing.

“Anyone ever tell you your balance needs work?” he asks.

And then, like the dawn breaking, he cracks a smile.

With a collective sigh of relief, Rufus and Jiya collapse on top of one another. Rufus tickles Jiya’s side and she shrieks with laughter. “Yeah, Jiya.”

Flynn tries to smooth his expression, but he looks up and catches Lucy’s eyes. He licks his lips and smiles again, flashing his teeth. And again, just like the dawn, it’s blinding.

Butterflies, stirred by the sight, flutter in Lucy’s stomach.

She hasn’t felt that particular sensation since…

Her eyes go wide with realization.

Lucy turns and walks away as fast as her legs will carry her. She doesn’t stop, not even when Flynn calls out to her.

 

She plans to avoid the common room during the next yoga session. It’s a good, solid plan, except that there doesn’t seem to be an official call to yoga, no official time to meet in the common room.

Yoga, it seems, happens whenever Flynn decides to do yoga. And the others just happen to join him.

Including, now, Wyatt.

Lucy blinks when she sees him. He’s the last person on the team Lucy would expect to follow Flynn, of all people. But there he is, in a thin tank top and basketball shorts, standing with Rufus and Jiya and Flynn, stretching with his feet planted on the floor and his hands over his head.

Flynn bends to the right.

The rest of the team bends to the right. Some further than others.

Flynn bends to the left.

As one, the team bends to the left.

They fold forward for a breath. On the exhale, they step their legs back into Downward Dog, Jiya on her elbows in her modified version. From there, Flynn lifts his left leg into the air and bends it behind him, twisting slightly with his hips.

From Downward Dog, Rufus, Jiya, and Wyatt stare.

“Now you’re just fucking with us,” Wyatt grumbles.

Biting her bottom lip, Jiya lifts her back leg. She bends it and manages to get a little twist. “See? Not so hard.”

Rufus, following his girlfriend’s example, manages to get into an approximate pose, his leg more straight than bent.

Wyatt, not to be shown up, throws his leg into the air, bends it backwards and...

...falls onto his ass.

Lucy puts a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The others are not so considerate. 

“With control,” Flynn says. He stands up and Jiya and Rufus follow.

“Forward Fold, Down Dog, and into Three-Legged Down Dog. Opposite leg,” he tells them.

“Wait—what?” Jiya asks. 

“What we just did.”

Flynn moves to stand in front of Wyatt. He holds out his hand for Wyatt to take, but Wyatt ignores it. Wyatt pushes himself back to standing. 

Flynn shrugs. 

“With control,” he says again. He goes back to his space and goes through the motions, catching up with Rufus and Jiya.

Wyatt shakes his head. This time, he moves slowly and carefully into position.

Lucy, reminded of her plan to avoid the yoga session, ducks her head and walks back to the room she shares with Jiya.

 

Later, Lucy catches the gang, minus Flynn, in the kitchen. Jiya sits on the counter, eating yogurt, while Rufus and Wyatt dance around each other in the small space, fixing sandwiches.

“Hungry?” Wyatt asks, when he sees her.

“Mm, starving, actually.”

He holds up a butter knife, yellow with mustard. “Sandwich?” 

“Do I have a choice?” she asks.

The others snicker.

“Not unless you want Spaghettios,” Jiya says. She scrapes at the bottom of the yogurt cup with her spoon.

Together, they look at the Spaghettios, banished to the top shelf as a last-resort option. Rufus gives the stack of cans a nervous look, before pressing the remaining piece of bread onto a stack of meat and cheese.

“Where’s Jess?” Lucy asks. She sits at the table.

“Work,” Wyatt says. “Said she’d bring back pizza, if we aren’t out chasing Rittenhouse.”

Rufus grins. “Even if we do end up having to jump, at this point, I’m so tired of sandwiches, I’ll eat pizza cold. I don’t care.”

Jiya play-smacks his shoulder. “Hey! Cold pizza is the best.”

Rufus makes a face. “I love you, but you’re disgusting.”

Jiya laughs. She tosses her empty yogurt into the trash, grinning when she makes it in. She and Rufus share a high-five.

“I think you’re _both_ disgusting,” Wyatt teases.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Lucy says, but it doesn’t come out as playful as she intended. The words are laced with bitterness and hurt. 

Lucy flushes and pushes herself away from the table. “Sorry. I guess I’m not—I’m not actually as hungry as I thought.”

“Lucy—” Wyatt says.

Lucy shakes her head and puts on a smile. “Call me when there’s pizza?”

“Sure thing,” Rufus says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

Lucy leaves the kitchen. The last thing she wanted to do was remind everyone about her and Wyatt. To have them walking on eggshells around her again. It’s been _ages_ —literally, in some sense—and honestly, she’s fine. She— 

—smacks nose-first into a 6’4” wall of muscle.

Strong arms steady her by the shoulders. “Lucy?”

Flynn’s hair is damp. He’s wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans instead of the T-shirt and sweatpants he’d worn to do yoga. He must have just taken a shower.

“Flynn,” she says. She takes a step back, out of his reach, just in case the rapid-fire beat of her heart inside her chest is audible.

He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets.

“So, uh, yoga,” Lucy says, scrambling for something to say. “You got Wyatt to join?”

Flynn rocks back on his heels. “I may have reminded him combat relies on more than strength.”

He smiles wider, telling Lucy he didn’t so much remind Wyatt as issue some kind of challenge.

“I seem to have quite the following. Can I expect you to be the newest member of our little club?”

“For a yoga instructor, I noticed you don’t actually do a lot of instruction.”

“That’s because I’m not. An instructor, I mean. For whatever reason, your friends have been seeking me out. I only make suggestions so they don’t hurt themselves.”

“Right,” Lucy says. She doesn’t point out that Flynn waits for them, holding the position a beat or two longer so that the others can copy him. Or that he did give Rufus and Jiya instruction just that morning, so that they could move on while Flynn helped Wyatt. Or attempted to help Wyatt, anyway. “And why not just do your routines in your room?”

“Jealous I don’t have to share?”

Flynn’s room isn’t really a room. It started as a storage closet and was emptied out for his arrival. His is the only door with a lock on the outside, a precaution from the early days in case Flynn ever went rogue and the room needed to serve as a makeshift brig. 

It’s also located further away from the rest of their rooms, away from the panting and moaning of happy couples—not just Wyatt and Jess—that permeates through the walls. “It’s certainly quieter on your side of the bunker.”

He nods. “That it is.”

Lucy senses something beneath those three words, something a little sad or lonely, maybe, but before she can examine them, Flynn looks away. 

“So, it’s a no to the yoga, then?” he asks. 

Putting up her hands in a vague gesture of surrender, Lucy stammers, “I’m really not very good at that kind of thing and there’s really not enough space for all of us in the common room. So, I think—I think I’ll just sit yoga out.”

Flynn’s expression tightens. “I see. Well, if you ever change your mind.”

“Thanks. I’ll, uh, just see you later, then, huh?”

Flynn nods and doesn’t say anything when Lucy practically runs back to her room. To the safety of her history books. 

 

Lucy takes the couch again. She doesn’t mind, even if the temperature does drop to freezing during the night. It means Jiya can’t ask her what happened in the kitchen earlier that day. It means Jiya and Rufus can have some much needed time alone with one another. And it means Lucy can’t overhear whatever goes on in the room across the hall.

She also doesn’t have to justify her inability to sleep.

She’s curled up in her blanket, her eyes glued unseeing to the muted television. The rest of the bunker is dark, quiet, but not uncomfortably so.

Around midnight, footsteps interrupt the quiet. They would be almost soundless, if Lucy wasn’t listening for them. She’s had her ears perked up for the better part of the night, hoping to hear them, yet reluctant to hear them, all the same.

The footsteps approach the common room, stopping just behind the couch. For a moment, there is only silence, and then something is draped over her body.

A blanket.

“Thought you might be cold,” Flynn says, when he notices she’s awake.

“Thank you,” she says. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He flashes a quick smile, then tilts his head from side to side in a silent “what do you think?”

Flynn turns to leave, but Lucy sits up. She reaches over the back of the couch for his arm, grasping at the sleeve of his sweater. “Wait.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Why yoga?”

He smiles. “Not something you usually associate with your friendly neighborhood time bandit?”

“I regret Mason calling you that, by the way.”

Flynn laughs.

“No, it’s just— Well, I mean, _yes_. But why yoga?”

“Like I told your friend. Combat is more than just how strong your opponent is.”

Lucy frowns. “And that’s it? You’re just keeping limber for whatever mission comes next?”

His stormy eyes catch hers. Some of his dark hair hangs into his face, like maybe he tried to sleep, only to find himself tossing and turning. Or, like he’s run his hands through his hair in frustration, after finding sleep just beyond his reach. 

“It clears the mind,” he says. “It keeps you grounded in the present, in your breath, in the movement of your body.”

“We—I’ve never seen you do it before. Why now? Why out here? Why not your room, where no one can bother you?”

Flynn’s lips turn down. His eyes flash with something like disappointment. “Am I to live like some prisoner? Only to come out when we have a mission? I don’t know what more I have to do to be considered part of this team. I thought—”

Flynn’s face goes through a complicated series of emotions before he shakes his head. He breathes out a heavy sigh. “Good night, Lucy.”

Guilt pools hot and heavy in the pit of her stomach. “Flynn, no. That’s not what I meant.”

Flynn doesn’t stop. Nor does he turn around. He leaves, slinking back into the darkness.

Lucy gathers both blankets around her and lays against the couch cushions.

But she doesn’t sleep.

 

A week goes by without a yoga session.

In fact, besides a quick jump back in time to stop sleeper agents from destroying history any more than they already have, Lucy doesn’t see Flynn, at all.

Lucy wakes on the eighth day to Jiya standing over her, dressed in an over-large T-shirt and leggings. “What—”

“—gives, I know,” Jiya finishes. Her hands settle on her hips and she narrows her eyes at Lucy. “It’s been _days_ and no yoga. And not even a peep from Flynn. What gives?” 

“You’re asking me?” Lucy’s voice is gravel rough from sleep, her breath sour from the vodka she’d downed the night before to get her there.

“Well, it’s not like I can ask him.”

Lucy sits up. She rubs at her eyes, but they still burn with her exhaustion. “Why not?”

“Because he’s Flynn.” Jiya’s tone makes the underlying “duh” obvious. “Out of all of us, you’re closest to him. I thought maybe you’d know if something was up.”

Their conversation from a week ago still hangs on Lucy’s conscious. She hadn’t meant to imply he wasn’t a part of the team. Or that he should lock himself away from the rest of the group. 

Over the last few days, she’s had plenty of time to think about it. And, she’s come to the conclusion that if she had just given it a _little_ bit of thought, she would would have come up with the answer all on her own.

Flynn doing yoga in the common room meant he was becoming more comfortable with the group. Out in the field, they make an effective team, but inside the bunker, Flynn has always held himself separate. Not without good reason. The team was suspicious of him, at first. How could they not be?

But now, when outright aggression has turned into good-natured bickering, when no one flat-out objects to his presence, when his opinion is sought out and not just his intelligence on Rittenhouse, Flynn had started to open up to them. He’d shared something of himself, something he’d never trusted them with before.

And Lucy ruined it with her big, fat mouth.

Lucy winces. “I might have an idea.”

Jiya raises her eyebrows. “Okay? You can’t just stop there. I’m gonna need you to spill.”

Lucy thinks for a long moment. Not about what to tell Jiya, because she’s certain Flynn wouldn’t appreciate Lucy telling the other woman about his opening up, but about something else. About something she can do to make it up to him. “I’ve got something better. How would you like to help me with something?”

 

Five minutes later, Lucy stands in front of Flynn’s door, her heart hammering in her chest. She changed into a T-shirt and a pair of loose pants. She brushed her teeth and washed most of the traces of exhaustion from her face. Under her arm is a towel, rolled into an oblong shape, like a pillow.

Or a makeshift yoga mat.

She knocks. Too softly, at first, hardly audible. She knocks again, knuckles rapping against the steel door.

The door opens two inches. Flynn’s gaze sweeps the hallway behind Lucy before landing on her. His blue eyes brighten and another pang of guilt goes through Lucy. 

It’s taken her too long to realize he _always_ brightens when she’s near. To realize that she’s missed watching the way his face lights up when he sees her. 

Maybe it’s because the thought scares the living hell out of her.

“Lucy,” he says.

“Hi.” Lucy holds up her towel. “I, uh, came to do some yoga. If that’s still on the table.”

He blinks in surprise, but recovers quickly. “Yes, of course.”

He opens the wide enough for her to slip through, but Lucy shakes her head. “In the common room?”

Seconds tick by without an answer.

Just as an apology is about to spill over Lucy’s lips, for their conversation a week ago and for wasting his time now, Flynn licks his lips and flashes a smile. “Let me get changed.”

Lucy smiles. She hugs the towel to her chest. “Okay.”

The door closes.

Lucy peers down the hall, where Jiya sticks her head around the corner. Lucy gives her a thumbs up, which Jiya returns before ducking out of sight.

Flynn emerges, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. He motions for Lucy to go first, following behind her like a particularly tall shadow.

In the common room, Lucy stops and watches him expectantly. “So, uh, how do we do this?”

“We need to clear enough space to move comfortably. Push that table out of the way?”

While Lucy moves the table, Flynn makes short work of the rest of the furniture, opening up the common room as he had for previous yoga sessions. Lucy unrolls her towel with a snap of fabric and lets it flutter to the floor.

“Okay,” Lucy says. “Now what?”

Flynn flashes her a smile. “I realize this may be impossible for you, but try to relax.”

Lucy laughs. “Right. It’s just when I said I wasn’t very good at this, I wasn’t lying. I really do suck at this kind of thing.”

“Then, we’ll go slow.” Flynn stands next to her makeshift mat, prompting her to stand at the top of the long end. “Remember, the most important thing is to breathe. You can do that much, can’t you?”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Breathe. Got it.”

As if to show her how, Flynn takes a deep breath in and holds it. He lets it out, slow and with control. Lucy follows him and together they breathe.

In and out.

In.

And out.

Until the rest of the bunker fades away and it’s just Flynn and Lucy, just the pull of oxygen into their lungs, and the slow release of tension Lucy didn’t even know she was holding. Her shoulders drop away from her ears. She stands taller on her towel, her feet planted like roots into the plush cotton.

Flynn’s eyes are closed. His dark lashes lay softly against his skin. 

“Wait. Am I supposed to have my eyes closed for this?” Lucy asks.

“Perhaps another time. When you don’t, and I quote, ‘suck at this.’”

Lucy laughs. “Ah. Fair.”

Flynn takes both hands and presses them together in front of his chest. Lucy presses hers together. Flynn inhales and raises his arms above his head, hands still pressed together, fingertips reaching high. Lucy raises her arms, feeling the stretch all the way down her spine. Flynn exhales and bends forward, hands on his ankles to deepen the stretch. Lucy bends forward, hands flat on the floor in front of her feet. Lucy lets her head hang and together they breathe.

Flynn inhales and steps back into a lunge. On the exhale, both legs go back into Downward Facing Dog. Flynn raises his heels and, moving with his breath, he brings one heel to the ground, then the other, alternating legs. Lucy follows, enjoying the gentle burn in her calves. Her hands slip a little and she re-adjusts.

He takes her through several more poses, some she recognizes, some she does not. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, issuing gentle instructions whenever he finds her struggling with a pose. 

Most importantly, they breathe.

They end on the floor, lying beside one another, their arms are by their sides. Just breathing.

Lucy does allow her eyes to close, then. Surrendering to the way her body seems to sink into her towel. Infinitely more relaxed than when she started.

She expects Flynn to get up, but he breathes with her, a solid presence next to her.

After several minutes, Lucy opens her eyes. She rolls her head to look at him. 

Flynn is already watching her, a soft smile pulling at his mouth.

Reaching out, Lucy finds his hand. She squeezes it once. “Thank you. That was kind of incredible.”

His face goes through a range of emotion, landing, predictably on amused. He opens his mouth, eyes glinting, but before he can suggest anything inappropriate, Lucy play-smacks his arm.

“Ow,” he says, rubbing the spot theatrically. “And to think we just shared this _incredible_ , intimate moment together.”

“Shut up,” she returns, unable to keep the smile from her face. She really does feel amazing. Like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. 

She sits up. She’s not wearing a watch, but Jiya must be finished with her project by now. “Come on, let’s put this room back together. I have something I want to show you.”

He raises an eyebrow, but pushes himself to sitting without protest.

The tables, chairs, and couch are moved back to their respective places. Lucy rolls her towel and carries it under her arm, back to Flynn’s room.

As they approach his door—Jiya and any trace of her ever being there thankfully long gone—Flynn seems to hang back a little, uncertain. “Ah, Lucy—?”

Lucy smiles. “Come on. I promise you’ll like it.”

She holds out her hand for him to take. 

He hesitates, staring at her hand with the wariness of a man facing down a hungry shark, before he seems to shake himself. He takes it, and allows Lucy to pull him closer.

“Notice anything different?” she asks.

Flynn eyes first the hallway, like it might be riddled with traps, and then, finding nothing, he inspects the door.

His hand reaches out, fingertips ghosting over the handle.

The handle, which has been switched in their absence, so the lock is on the inside.

He looks at her, his blue eyes stormy. He swallows. Licks his lips.

“You _are_ part of the team,” Lucy says. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t. We— _I_ trust you. And I thought, maybe, you might appreciate—”

He scoops her into his arms, his face pressed in the space between her shoulder and chin. He spins her, and just audible over her heart beating in her ears, he says, “Thank you, Lucy. Thank you.” 

 

Two days later, Flynn commandeers the common room for yoga. Jiya, Rufus, Wyatt, and Lucy join him.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, i only just started going to yoga classes, so if each of flynn's yoga sessions seems unrealistic, that's because it probably is. oh well.
> 
> also, here i am, late to this party, and it's all because of garcia flynn's stupid, beautiful biceps.


End file.
